


Red Paint and Green Silk

by Gaqalesqua



Series: Dragon Age Fanfiction [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adrenaline sex, Avvar AU, Avvar Cullen, Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaqalesqua/pseuds/Gaqalesqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Trevelyan encounters an Avvar demanding her valuables, and nobles like her don’t simply hand them over…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Paint and Green Silk

The Hinterlands were quiet today – the rifts in the woods were all closed up, leaving Lusia to trot around by herself on her horse with no fear of demons, or the bandits and smugglers from the Grand Villa. Instead, she enjoyed the sunshine, quietly mulling over her next few arrangements once she’d collected all the Crystal Grace in the forest.

Josephine had marriage offers to arrange for her, Leliana had reports for her to red. Cassandra had a list of people that needed bringing to justice. Being the Herald of Andraste had certainly swept change into her life, and with change, and duty, came stress. She was more tired these days than she’d ever been before, and even a jaunt into the Hinterlands could be lovely and calming.

What startled her was her horse whinnying in surprise, and she looked up to see a tall figure in her path. He had evidently got there in some way that shocked her mount. He was carrying a sword and a carved wood shield, clad in animal pelts and leather for armour. She recognised the war paints on his body as being Avvar in origin, and stilled her horse.

“What do you want?” she asked. His golden-brown eyes seemed to gleam, the red war paint slapped across his body glowing in the afternoon sunshine.

“Turn over your valuables,” he said in a lazy voice, his smile the kind of easy that could turn into a knife-blade without hesitation. Lusia tightened her grip on the reins of her mount.

“I don’t think so,” she replied.

“You asked,” he countered. “If you won’t hand them over, it’s my hope to take them.” He sauntered towards her, and Trevelyan put her hand on her weapon as he approached. “Oh, this is how it will be?”

“Nobility don’t give up everything they have at the insistence of an Avvar barbarian,” she told him coolly. He kept walking, his easy smile razor-sharp now, and Lusia couldn’t help but notice how it accentuated a scar on his lip. Her eyes were drawn to it. Indeed, she was so distracted he got a great deal closer than he should have before she slipped off her horse and smacked its flank, sending the beast flying towards the Avvar. The man simply rolled, sword coming from its sheath as he got to his feet, and Trevelyan vanished only to strike behind him, but his shield raised and she buried her dagger in it.

He smacked his arm out and she let go of the hilt to duck beneath it, kicking out her legs to sweep behind his. He stumbled somewhat but was not uprooted, and Trevelyan found herself on the floor still. His shield pressed down towards her and she rolled away from it, circling back around him with the one blade in hand, wary of him. His smile was  _feral_  now, wicked and full of vigour. He tossed away the shield, bearing only the sword, and for a few moments the opponents sized each other up.

He darted, and she danced back, but his sword caught the fabric around her waist and sliced, and when she next leapt for his neck it ripped, fluttering away from her. She got in a hit but it was brief, edge catching a strap that kept the fur mantle around his neck. She retreated, watching him strip the mantle away to reveal broad, muscled shoulders, and Trevelyan’s mouth went dry. Maker, this was a bad idea. Her coat flapped distractingly at her side, open and annoying, and his downward strike caught it and pinned her to the floor. She ripped free but his arms came around her waist and pushed her back down. She braced her feet against his hips and  _shoved_  and the Avvar flew backwards, his sword gone. She peeled out of her coat in moments, clad in the beige cotton garments and the Inquisition breastplate beneath.

She had dropped her dagger in the commotion and leaped for it, coming up as he found his sword and she spotted his shield, her other dagger still buried in the wood. He eyed it at the same time as her, and she vanished again, but he was wise to that, watching the rippling air and catching her arm, pulling the other dagger from her grasp. She fought and he yanked, her back colliding with his chest as she squirmed against him. Within seconds her wrists were in one large hand, and the Avvar had his free one on her neck. She stilled as he stroked her jaw.

“How about we forget the valuables?” he asked softly. “I have something better in mind.”

 _What would scarred lips feel like between my legs?_  Lusia almost asked him, but instead she hissed out a strangled “which is?”

His fingers dipped, briefly running over her breasts before grasping hold of the hem of her trousers. He pulled them down her legs slowly, tracing over the luxurious green silk underclothes beneath. They scouted her hipbones, admiring how daring and yet modest they were. A two-piece set, trimmed with lace, it consisted of laced-up shorts and a small, strapless top which nevertheless reached down to the hem of the little shorts.

“These are nice,” he hummed. “Can I rip them?”

“You’re rather in charge right now,” she hissed. He chuckled and it was a  _sinful_  noise.

“Let me rephrase this.  _Do you want me to rip them?_ ” he purred. Her choked  _yes_  came shamefully quickly and the Avvar warrior busied himself one-handed undoing her clothes, revealing the tanned, lightly-scarred skin beneath. But when he momentarily freed her arms to relieve her of her beige jacket, the woman slid from his grasp like silk and deliver a punch to the gut that winded him briefly. As she ran for her dagger he threw himself down on top of her, flipping her over onto her back and pinning her with his hips, untying her corset as her hands shoved him ineffectually. The green ribbon that had bound her body now circled her wrists and he deftly tied her as he carelessly ripped the beige jacket off her torso. The corset came open and with a grin he closed it briefly.

“I shouldn’t spoil myself all at once,” he murmured, gazing at the high boots on her legs – supple black leather that went all the way up to her thighs, and he bit his lip and purred contentedly. No, there was no need to remove those, and instead he grasped hold of the beige trousers and ripped them as he had the jacket, listening to her whimper of surprise.

Looping her wrists over the hilt of his sword – buried firmly in the ground – he relished the sight of her body pulled up, chest pushed out and head thrown back. Her eyes quickly returned to him as he began to unlace the sides of her tiny green silk shorts, using one hand either side. When they felt loose around her hips, he stared down at her and Trevelyan could scarcely meet his heated gaze. Was it her imagination, or…

Oh, _Maker._  She was getting wet, Maker, she was wet for him and he’d barely touched her.

The green silk covering her breasts simply  _slid_  and Trevelyan’s chest was bared. His fingers found her skin and it was like electric down her spine, barely touching her stomach but winding slowly up to her full breasts like he was curious.

“You act like a virginal boy,” she told him, but she didn’t  _tell_ , she  _teased_ , and Maker his eyes darkened with lust when she said that.

“Then perhaps I should reassure you that I’m anything but,” he murmured. His head dipped and his mouth covered her skin and Trevelyan whimpered as his tongue found her nipple and circled it. He sucked softly, still stroking her breast with his tongue, and sparks filled her brain as helpless panting left her mouth, red and open and quickly flushed with blood as he continued to suck. She writhed as his left hand touched her unattended breast, his right hand pinning her hips down. She shifted, wanting to cry a name, but  _Maker_  felt so wrong and she didn’t know  _his_ …

“What-” she managed as his right hand slid to the silk shorts, just teasing the waistband like a dirty promise. She lost her breath for a second, panting hotly. “-is your name?”

He stopped, pulling away from her breast, and smirked, leaving her hanging whilst he sucked on the one he hadn’t yet touched. If she was wet before she was dripping now, damp in her smalls. Could he smell her?

“Cullen,” he finally murmured, giving her nipple a final, gentle lick. “Will you scream it?”

“Can you make me?” she shot back mockingly, and regretted her words as much as she savoured them. His smile was filthy, curving the stubble of his cheeks into dimples that should have been innocent but were so very, very naughty. His mouth kissed scratchy kisses down her stomach, tongue flicking into her navel and causing her to squirm at the feeling.

“I recall you asking me to rip these,” he said as he reached her smalls. “But I appear to have only undone them.” There was a pause as he grasped the beautiful silk, easily pulling it from her, and then he ripped, shredding them into pieces and Lusia watched with a slack mouth as he removed his gloves and began to finger her nub, eyes blowing out with lust and heat shooting up to her face, curving around her shoulders and leaving cold fingers when it withdrew. There was no pause to his touch, no hesitation. The soft stimulation of the bud was a precursor to what came next, because Cullen’s finger slid easily inside her, and the  _sound_ was utterly debauched – it was wet, and clear, and loud, and it reached her ears and made her burn with embarrassment.

Cullen had no such shame – he removed his other glove with his teeth and tongue, and Trevelyan gained a very clear image of his mouth at work as he continued to pump her, one finger becoming two, thumb on her bud and sawing mercilessly. Too good,  _too good_ , but all she could do was moan and whimper in pleasure as he gazed at her with those burnished, blazing eyes, eagerly raking in her prone form. His finger went faster now, thumb slick wet with the moisture from between her legs and Trevelyan finally submitted and exhaled his name as a desperate cry as he returned lips to her breast and sucked on her, happy to play with the bound noble like she was a toy. She was not a  _toy_ , Maker, she was a noble, and a Rogue, but the sensation of his fingers, going hard now, was wiping her head clean of protest.

And then as she began to build he left her breast, his mouth replacing his thumb and she _screamed_  this time. Scarred lips, it turned out, felt good, the texture adding a new sensation as his wet tongue serviced her. Maker, when was the last time she had experienced this? He was eager, pulling her close and delving into her taste like it was nectar. Certainly, he was eager to explore, and his actions made her body roll, her wrists tugging at their bindings.

Was she coming free from the ribbon?

She was.

But she let Cullen continue to lick her, her climax approaching fast and hard like floodwater across a dry riverbed as she worked herself free from the ribbon, keeping her hands up to keep him from suspecting her freedom, gazing around for something to use on him that wouldn’t kill him. He had a belt on, if she got him by surprise could she tie him down with that?

In seconds her mind was wiped by a flood of pleasure as her body tensed up, orgasm ripping through her system as she kept going. Her thighs locked behind his head and she pressed him into her until he started to struggle, and finally he shoved her away, falling back from her, his face slick and gleaming around his mouth. She vanished, and the slightly dazed and air-needy Cullen wasn’t watching until the belt was gone from his waist and around his wrists, secured with green silk just for comfort. She’d pinned him to a log, and the lady herself appeared from thin air, body heaving for breath as she reached down for his fur tasset and trousers.

“The lady is going to get her own back,” he guessed, and it was her turn to smile wickedly as she unlaced the pelts and leather. Cullen was panting too, and she wiped his mouth with her thumb, raising it to her lips and tasting herself. Cullen licked his mouth as she wiped the rest of his face clean of her slick, gazing at her with curiosity, lust, and something of  _respect_.

Her smile vanished when she finally got his trousers down, gazing at his size. He was a good inch or so thick, six at the length, and he quivered when Lady Trevelyan stroked along the shaft.

“Wait,” he choked as her fingers fitted snugly around the pulsing muscle. “You have my name, but…”

“Call me ‘My Lady,’” she chuckled. He grinned at that. She squeezed him and the grin melted into an open mouth. She wanted to bite the scar, to lap the cut and nibble on his lip, but that seemed too much like intimacy and this was revenge, so she jerked her hand up and down roughly and listened to the cadence of his moans and found her breath hitching with his.

She dipped her hand as her strokes increased in pace, sucking the tip of him into her mouth. Cullen let out a quiet yell as she did so, his mouth wide as she licked around the flesh. She sucked harder, and bobbed her head, and the Avvar melted beneath her, his muscles twitching and trembling with need and delight. What if she left him there like that, spasming and needy? The thought sent a bolt of arousal straight to her core and she realised that she couldn’t bear to leave without having ridden him at least once. Cullen would certainly top from the bottom, there would be no doubting his assistance.

Pulling her head away, Lusia straddled the bound warrior, admiring the cords of muscle in his arms, his exposed stomach, and traced the expanse of flesh as she pressed him against her core, her fingers fisting into his hair. He  _snarled_ , wild and feral and oh  _Maker,_  imagine a man like that in charge. She slipped down onto him like water because of how wet she was, whimpering as she began to roll her hips, one hand in his hair, the other scratching gently down his chest.

“Don’t be afraid to bite,” he mocked, and so she wasn’t, nipping his lips and stroking her tongue along the scar on his mouth as she fucked him. Trevelyan was quickly losing it, and Cullen wasn’t helping, his hips thrusting mercilessly into hers from below. It was too good, too much, and she curled his head into her chest and he reached her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. She arched, already close to another orgasm as her rolling was replaced by more of a ride, raising her hips fully into the air before dropping them back down. Her mouth moved to his neck, leaving welts and bruises there in plenty, dark red and purple marks that satisfied her somehow.

Perhaps in hindsight she should have been more careful securing him.

The belt made uncomfortable squeaking sounds she ignored, and when she closed her eyes and buried her face in his hair – hair that smelt of Embrium – she should have known better.

Strong hands grasped her ass, and secured her in place, and then the Avvar man beneath her began to drive into her without stopping. Lusia tried to push dimly, her vision clouding, but Cullen’s large hand held both her wrists above her head, the right hand simultaneously keeping her down and thumbing her nub and  _Maker_ , when he gazed up at her, she might have been on top but she was prey all right. Her own sounds came weak and needy to her ears, and the slippery, filthy sound of her slit being filled was almost too much on top of that. She rolled as best she could but Cullen was taking her.

“You wanted to ride an Avvar,” he all but snarled. “You’ll find we don’t break like Fereldan horses.”

Indeed, the brutal, savage, oh so fulfilling pace he set beneath her was proof of that.

“Are you enjoying this,  _My Lady_?” he growled. She whimpered out a helpless ‘yes’, again, one that came too quickly for her liking. He suckled on her, occasionally leaving bites on what he could reach, and he wound Lady Trevelyan to orgasm so hard her eyes filled with tears and her vision blurred. She found herself tossed onto her back, silk around her eyes to blind her, and as she flailed to take it off rope coiled around her wrists and he tied her intricately, humiliatingly and in a way that spiked her arousal. Her head was a mess, arms secured above her so that she was open for him, and Cullen took, slipping back into her warmth as he played with her breasts.

She cried out his name helplessly, and he silenced her with his thumb, wetting it between her lips before placing it at the junction of her thighs and circling continuously. He growled again, mocking her title as he curled her legs up at the small of his back and continued to thrust.

“Your  _name_ ,” he snarled, nibbling on her shoulder as his nails dug into her plush rear. “Tell me your name.”

“Lusia,” she breathed, and he kissed her demandingly, tongue flicking her lips before he nipped on her full, dark lower one, her breath quite leaving her.

The kiss changed nothing and yet everything, an act that was intimate being done by a stranger. Still, he fucked like nothing was wrong, bending her leg up over his shoulder and laughing, breathless and aroused, at her flexibility. She rolled with his thrusts, gasping in shock when he pulled out. She wanted to yell, but she found herself on her front, rear in the air, and Cullen was back inside her, spreading her legs widely as he pushed her back to arch, one hand beneath her body to rub her. This position was humiliating and yet it sent a buzz up her spine that tingled between her legs and  _Maker_ , it was like a dog taking a bitch but Lusia writhed and moaned and ground out Cullen’s name as he pinched and stroked and made her burn in need.

Her next orgasm felt like drowning, heat suffusing every nerve as it spread out from her core and made her body wriggle. Cullen hadn’t yet met his end, so he kept going, and without pulling from her he manoeuvred her onto her back once more, his head buried in her neck, licking and nipping as his thrusts became yet more erratic. She cried out his name, locked her legs around his hips, and the Avvar finally roared hers as he spilt inside her, collapsing and nearly crushing her. He paused, panting and gasping for air just as she was, and then he pulled out, soft to the feel, but she couldn’t see because the blindfold kept her in the dark. He seemed to be standing, and suddenly Trevelyan wanted to cover herself but she couldn’t.

“I could leave you here,” he said gruffly. “I live very nearby. I could keep you here and we could do this every day. But you’re a Lady of importance, so I’ll be kind.”

She stiffened, hearing the rasp of metal as he pulled her dagger from his shield and strode back to her. He braced it against the rope and cut, and she untangled her hands and pulled away the blindfold

Her body was smeared with Cullen’s red paint, as was he, and he backed off as she stood on shaky legs. His seed dripped from her and she had the grace to blush. After all that?

He handed her dagger back, hilt first, and Trevelyan took it, and dropped it into the dirt as she grasped the Avvar warrior’s shoulders and pulled him down to kiss him ferociously. They tangled together beautifully, hot and warm and sweaty and  _Maker_ , kissing him felt like air. She couldn’t get enough of it. His arms wrapped around her body and she curled into him as they kissed, natural and right even if they had both just tried to kill, to conquer each other. They fell to the ground and Trevelyan rolled onto his chest, and drank him in.

He looked delicious, sweaty in the early evening sun with wet paint everywhere, at ease naked with her wetness still on his softened cock. She kissed the hollow at his collarbone and nipped softly, and he chuckled, rolling onto his side to clasp her tightly as their mouths met again.

 _He’s a barbarian_ , she thought,  _there can’t be any political gain to this match!_

But how many potential suitors could she best into bed and then have them turn the tables on her in seconds? Cullen was virile and strong. He was a sword-arm if she needed it. She would find more in a man like that than she would in a dozen Ostwick noblemen. She cupped his jaw and kissed like he was water.

He finally pulled away, breathing hard, grinning in a filthy way.

“Looks like the noblewoman handed something over after all,” he chuckled.

“I only said at your insistence,” she pointed out. “When you got  _physical_  you proved yourself worthy of them.”

“I don’t want them,” he told her.

“Then what do you want?” she asked softly.

“To bend you over that stump,” he said carefully, “and make you scream again.”

For now, Trevelyan was happy to let him do so.


End file.
